


Ya Gotta Learn to Relax

by clgfanfic



Category: Counterstrike (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stone knows he can teach Pete to relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ya Gotta Learn to Relax

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine One in Ten #1 under the pen name Chris Alexander.

          The lights were off.  It was perfectly silent.  He wasn't too hot or too cold.  A heating pad – set on high – relaxed the muscles in his neck and upper shoulders.  And he'd taken all the medication he safely could.

          There was nothing left to do now except suffer through the pain until it decided to go away.

          He sighed.  Damn, damn, damn, damn.  Why, after all this time, was he getting migraines again?  He heard the door open and immediately had an answer.  Hector Stone.

          "Hey, Pete, you okay?"

          "I'll be fine," Sinclair replied quietly, his own voice reverberating painfully through his skull and making him grimace.

          "What's wrong?"

          It warmed some part of Sinclair's heart when he heard the genuine concern in the man's voice.  "Migraine," he said softly.

          "Ahhh," Stone said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.  He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

          Peter Sinclair sighed.  Why in the name of Heaven had his libido decided to focus its attention on Stone?  The ex-SEAL was definitely _not_ his type.

 _Oh, correction, dear boy_ , the voice of Sinclair's alter-ego replied.  _He's exactly your type, and that is exactly why it happened._

          Peter sighed again.  He did not need another visitation from his 'swinging' other self.  Once was more than enough.

          He knew what it was.  He had never been comfortable with his bisexuality.  Never.

          Normally it was easy to hide, to keep his inclinations in check by focusing on his relationships with women.  But even his marriage hadn't been able to erase his occasional attractions to men.  Claire had recognized it, but, thankfully, she had kept any comments on the situation to herself.

          Besides, he had been completely faithful to her while they were married.  _Ah, perhaps, but I'm sure she would argue that your work was your mistress_ , his alter-ego said.

 _And she would be right_ , Peter admitted.  It still was.  But now things were growing more complicated.  He was definitely attracted to Gabrielle – had been since he'd found her in his bath tub – and she was equally attracted to him.  But they had found neutral ground in their shared work for Alexander Addington, defusing the sexual tension through almost constant teasing.  It was unmerciful at times, but he had no intention of sleeping with a teammate.  Sex made for complicated working arrangements, and in their line of work complications could get someone killed.

          And then there was Stone.  Hector Stone.  American.  Ex-Navy SEAL.  Ex-CIA operative.  Tall, dark, lithe, and dangerous.

          He hadn't even liked the man to start, but Stone had a way of growing on someone – 'like grass on dirt' as the ex-SEAL had so quaintly phrased it.

 _And now?_ his other self asked.

          Now it was getting complicated.

_No wonder you have a migraine._

          "Oh, shut up," he muttered aloud.

          He couldn't tease Stone like he did Gabrielle, it would make his feelings obvious.  And he certainly couldn't tell the man about his attraction.  Stone was–

 _Straight?  Are you so bloody sure that you're willing to put up with this instead?_ the grinning alter-ego argued.  _Come on, Peter, give the man a chance.  He's more of a swinger than you are…_

          The door opened again and Peter cracked one eye open just far enough to watch Stone come in and close the door behind him.  The bedroom room wasn't large, but then there wasn't that much room on the small jet to get expansive.

          "What?"  Sinclair asked, letting his irritation concerning the entire situation spill out.

          "Shhhh," Stone whispered softly.

          Sinclair lay still, listening to try and discover what the man wanted, but he could hardly hear the American moving around the small space.  Before he realized it, the soft strains of music filled the room.  As he recognized the addition Peter was surprised.  Stone had picked music that he was actually enjoying.

          "Pete?"

          Sinclair's eyes cracked open again only to find a third-full brandy snifter being offered.  He'd considered a stiff drink, but hadn't wanted to get up to get it.  _The man's reading my mind._

 _He can do more than that, if you give him the chance_ , his other self told him.

          Peter accepted the drink with a more civil, "Thank you."

          "Drink it down," Stone instructed softly.

          Sinclair took a deep swallow, enjoying the sharp, warm, burn as the expensive liquor slid into his belly.  Two more and the glass was empty.

          Stone took the empty glass away with a soft, "Be right back.  Lie still."

          Sinclair smiled briefly and ran a hand over his blond hair, moving it back off his still-throbbing forehead.  He couldn't help but wonder if the mother-hen routine was a side of Stone he just hadn't noticed before.  Before he could decide, the door opened and Stone was back.

          "Hey, Pete, put this over your eyes," Stone said, holding out an odd-looking red pack.

          "What is it?" Peter asked, starting to feel the effects of the brandy.

          "Hot-pack," Stone said, gently settling it in place.  "Toss it in the microwave and it'll hold heat for an hour or more.  Great for sore muscles."

          Sinclair sighed, enjoying the heat that radiated from the gel into his forehead and temples.  "Thanks," he muttered.

          "No problem," Stone said.

          Peter almost sat up when he felt his shoes being removed, but he was just starting to feel better and refused to risk the flood of agony such a move would engender.  Instead he grumbled, "Stone, what the hell are you doing?"

          "Rest of the treatment, Pete."

          "Treatment?"

          "Yeah, I rub, you shut up and lay there."

          "I see," Sinclair said, amusement edging the words.

          "Un-do your pants," Stone instructed.  "Unless you want me to do it."

 _I love a man who knows what he wants and goes after it_ , the alter-ego smirked.

 _Go away_ , Peter commanded.

          Grateful that the pack hid the blush that colored his cheeks deep red, Peter reached up and unbuttoned his slacks and tugged the fly down without comment.  He lifted his hips slightly as Stone pulled them off from the cuffs.  A sharp cut of pain sliced through his head as a slight shiver shook his exposed body.  Before he could complain Stone settled a blanket over him.

_Remember, if you don't try it, you won't know if you like it…_

          "Here," Stone said, pressing another large shot of the brandy into Peter's hand.

          "Mmm," Sinclair replied, swallowing a sip and thinking that it was a good thing he wasn't lying flat or Stone would have had to hold his head up for him to drink.

          Stone started his "treatment" with Peter's feet, rubbing the bottom, pulling his toes, and squeezing his heels.  Sinclair finished the brandy, enjoying the massage and the tingle it set off in his legs.  The strong, sure hands moved up to his ankles and calves, working the muscles until they felt like warm, molten lead.

          The blanket shifted, covering his lower legs before Stone moved up to work on his thighs.  Sinclair finally moaned when Stone shook the big muscles with his hands, the vibration creating a pleasurable buzz in his groin as well.

          Stone made no reply, covering his legs before unbuttoning Peter's shirt and laying it open.  Starting with the base of the neck, he worked his way down with small circular motions that eased the remaining tension away.  When he reached the hips, he squeezed and kneaded.

          Peter moaned again.

          "Arch up a little," Stone instructed.

          Sinclair did so and was surprised when there was no answering flare of pain in his head.  Stone pulled his shirt down and tugged it off.  Peter arched a second time and felt Stone pull the shirt out from under him.

          The blanket replaced the hands on his chest just before Sinclair found his fingers being pulled, his arm rubbed, rolled, and kneaded.  As each arm was finished, it was returned to the warmth under the blanket.

          "I'm going to take the hot-pack off, okay?"

          "Okay," Sinclair said, feeling slightly fuzzy and very relaxed.

          The weight over his eyes disappeared, but the strong fingers immediately set to work, rubbing across his forehead, over his cheeks, jaw, and along the front of his ears.  The fingers dipped down his neck, rubbed delightfully behind his ears, and combed over his scalp.  The sensations were overwhelming and Peter felt the migraine begin to dissipate like a fog under a hot sun.

          "Can you turn over?"

          Sinclair considered the question for a moment before he replied.  "I think so."

          "Do it."

          Peter kept his eyes closed as he slowly rolled over.  He felt the heating pad and pillows being pulled out of the way before he eased himself down again.  The blankets shifted, covering his upper body and thighs before the hands returned to his feet.

          This time when Stone pulled his toes Peter choked back a gurgle of pure pleasure.  A chuckle issued from the bottom of the bed.

          "Like that, do you?" Stone asked.

          "What can I say?" Peter slurred into the mattress.

          "Not much," was the taciturn reply, but Sinclair could imagine the toothy smile backing it up.

          The hands worked up his legs, chasing away what was left of the headache.  When Stone reached the upper portion of his thighs, Peter prepared for the back rub to follow, but the hands dug into the muscles of his butt, drawing another low moan out of the usually staid Brit.

          "Most used, least appreciated muscles in the body," Stone said.

          "They appreciate what you're doing."

          "Glad to hear it."

          The blanket moved down, warming his legs as the hands moved onto his back.  For a brief moment, Peter was sorry, but the pleasure the fingers coaxed out of his muscles took over, and he sighed heavily.

          "You know, Pete, you gotta learn to relax."

          "I relax fine, thank you."

          "Then why the migraine?"

          "I've had them off and on since I was at university."

          "Sounds like stress to me."

          "Perhaps."

          "This is a sure fire stress treatment."

          "Mmm," was the best Sinclair could do.

          The hands roamed over his shoulders, up the back of his neck and into his hair.  Peter sighed again and arched back slightly, pressing his head against Stone's hands.  The hands squeezed, then moved, trailing lightly down his spine before circling out.

          Peter shivered.

          "Cold?"

          "No."

          The hands settled on Peter's shoulders, the palms warm from friction.  They moved in the same direction, working firmly outward and away from his backbone as they progressed down his back and along his sides until Stone reached the buttocks.

          Sinclair groaned as Stone continued circling down his butt to the upper part of his legs, then reversed the process, working his way back up Peter's body, and down again.  The blanket was pulled off all the way, sending a chill of anticipation down Peter's spine.

          When Stone finished below his buttocks, Peter was afraid the massage was over, but then he felt the ex-SEAL place his hands firmly on the lowest part of his ass. Then Stone started pushing both hands up along Peter's spine.  It was slow and heavy, like a molten wave that threatened to engulf his head.  When the hands reached his neck they reversed, skimming lightly over his skin.

          Peter wasn't sure when it happened, but he suddenly knew that the massage was a seduction.  Stone was making a pass at him, and it was up to Peter to decide how to respond.

          He could ignore it and life would go on like nothing had ever happened, or he could act, and…?

          He wasn't sure.

 _What are you waiting for? Do something to tell him what you want_, his alter-ego suggested.

 _Right_ , Peter responded.  _Stone's not gay.  End of discussion.  Absolutely not._

 _He couldn't be bisexual?_ his second self asked.  _Like you are when you'll admit it._

          A throb in his temples told Peter not to think about it, and his body told him to go along, to enjoy the sensations that left him feeling heavy and light at the same time.

          "Turn over," Stone instructed and Sinclair responded without conscious thought.

          The warm pack returned to cover his eyes and Peter realized that his quasi-arousal would be clearly evident to Stone.

_And what's wrong with that?  If this really was a pass, then it's what he's looking for.  You certainly aren't going to tell him.  If not, you can always blame the brandy._

          Peter was saved any further thought when Stone gently stroked across his chest.  Peter groaned softly, his shoulder blades pinching slightly together.  A fingertip pressed lightly against each nipple and the groan shifted to a moan of pleasure.

          "Feel good?" Stone asked, his voice carefully neutral.

          "Yes," Peter breathed.  "Very."

          The fingers moved feather-light down his chest, stopping just above the patch blond pubic hair.  At the same time, the hint of a beard brushed over the skin of Peter's chest.  He was surprised to discover that the stubble was soft, not bristly like he had imagined.  A warm, wet tongue-tip flicked across one nipple and then the other.

          "Ahhh," Peter said.  "Stone—"

          "Shut up," the man growled.

 _A man after my own heart_ , the alter-ego chuckled.  _Not to mention your body…_

          A rain of kisses and licks blended with caresses all over Peter's body, punctuated occasionally by a seductive suck and stroke.  Peter could feel his erection grow and wane several times over the duration of the attack.  As the petting grew more intimate he felt his cock grow hard and knew it was going to stay that way until Stone gave up or he reached the climax he was hoping for.

          Stone's strong hands slipped under Peter's ass, kneading with the pads of his fingertips and prompting the blond's hips to lift slightly.  The hands shifted, pressing Sinclair back down against the bed.  "Slow down, Pete.  You're supposed to be relaxing, remember?"

          "I _am_ relaxed."

          The hands traveled down Sinclair's thighs, his legs falling open, giving Stone a free access to his groin, if he wanted it.

          He did.

          The hands stroked back up the thighs, then Stone reached in and cradled Peter's scrotum in his hand like he was weighing the sack.  He jiggled and squeezed lightly while Sinclair moaned, his head rolling to the side.

          When was he going to _do_ something?

          The silent question was answered when Stone's fingers inched forward, bumping behind the root of Sinclair's cock.  The fingers probed his perineum, driving his hips off the bed for a second time.

          "Ahhhhh..." Sinclair cried out, his fingers curling tightly into the blanket.  Lost in the sensations, his head rolled back, the hot-pack falling off, but the blue eyes remained closed.

          "If you want me to finish this, I have to go get something," Stone said.

          Peter's eyes cracked open.  "Are you sure?"

          A wolfish grin was his immediate answer.  "I always finish what I start, Pete."

          "Go on," Sinclair replied with a smile, nodding his head toward the door.

          Stone left, returning much quicker than expected.  He sat back down on the bed, stroking a finger down the still hard cock and making it jump under his touch. 

          "Why?" Peter asked.

          Stone leveled another wolfish grin on the blond.  "Later.  Close your eyes."

          Peter followed the man's order, wondering what was in store.  He listened as Stone unthreaded the cap to the tube of KY.  He heard him sit the tube and cap on the small nightstand, then the sound of frictioning hands rubbing together.

          Colors exploded on the black screen of his eyelids as Stone grasped the base of his cock, his hand sliding slowly up and over the coronal ridge, then down again.  He continued the slow-motion seduction, tightening his grasp just slightly with each stroke.  At the same time Stone used his free hand to fondle and tease Peter's testicles and rub along the base of his cock.

          Sinclair's head rolled back and forth with each stroke, his breath coming in shorter and shorter pants.  Starting in his lower abdomen, a slight, pink flush spread up over his chest, neck and face, and down, over his thighs.  His nipples swelled and came fully erect, the small red buds tempting Stone to bend forward and suck on the closest one.

          "Ahhh… Stone… please…"  Peter pleaded, his hips circling and bucking in response to the manipulations.

          When Stone felt Peter's testes draw up, he abandoned the scrotum, and while maintaining the slow pump along the dusky shaft, he slid the palm of the other hand over the crown.

          "Stone…"

          Stone picked up the speed, pumping harder and faster, the other hand circling faster.

          "I'm going to come," Peter panted, wanting to warn the man in case he decided to avoid the mess to come.  It was too late for him, he was already beyond his ability to prevent, delay, or in any way control the inevitable.

          Sinclair groaned and shoved his hips upward, forcing his cock into Stone's slick hand.  When he finally came it was one long stream of tension.

          Stone watched as the glans turned a deep purple just before Peter ejaculated into his hand.

          When it was over Sinclair collapsed back against the bed, all traces of the migraine gone.  He felt Stone climb off the bed, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to see where the man had gone.

          A minute or so later, Stone returned, and using a warm washcloth gently cleaned Peter's groin.

          He cracked his eyes open, watching Stone.  The image and his expectations clashed and he closed them again.  What the hell had he done?

          "Pete, you okay?"

          He opened his eyes.  "Why did you do that?"

          Stone stood and carried the washcloth back to the small lavatory and shower arrangement off the bedroom.  Sinclair listened as the man rinsed it out, then returned to the bed.  He sat down on the edge and shrugged.  "Seemed like a good idea at the time.  Was I wrong?"

          Peter scooted up so he could lean against the head of the bed.  Reaching out, he grabbed the discarded blanket and pulled it over his legs and stomach.  He grinned.  "Oh no, it was a spectacular idea, but that still doesn't tell me why."

          Stone stood and walked the three steps to the built-in wardrobe on the far side of the small room.  His back to Sinclair, he replied, "Look, Pete, maybe I was wrong, but I thought you were… interested."

          The blond sat forward on the bed.  "I was.  I am."

          Stone turned.  "That straight?"

          "Straight as an arrow, pal."

          Stone nodded, the reply obviously answering some other silent question the man had.

          "But I'm not sure it's a good idea."

          "Gabby?" Stone asked.

          Peter chuckled and shook his head.  "No…  Not that it hasn't crossed my mind," he admitted.  "Several times, but I think it would be a mistake.  I think I might get—"

          "Over-protective?" Stone finished.

          "Yeah, over-protective.  I have a tendency to do that when it comes to women.  No matter how well trained they are."

          "Me, I figure what happens in the bedroom and what happens out there is two different things."

          Peter tossed the blanket off and climbed out of bed.  He padded to the bathroom, saying, "I see."

          "What about you?"

          Peter finished relieving himself, washed his hands and returned to the bed.  "Me?  Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

          Stone gave him a concerned, slightly confused look.  "How many men have you been with?"

          "Three, before now.  But that was a long, long time ago."

          "Why the distance?"

          Peter leaned back against the wall, the blanket back in place.  "Fear, I guess."

          "Fear?"

          Sinclair nodded.  "I was afraid of what my family– what my father would say if he found out.  After I joined the Yard, well, there are rules I had agreed to follow."

          Stone laughed softly.  "Yeah, tell me about it.  So, when did it happen?"

          "University."

          "Ah," Stone said, nodding his understanding.

          "How about you?" Peter asked.  "You don't strike me as—"

          "I'm not gay," Stone finished for him.  "I like girls."

          "And boys?"

          "One or two.  I'm not bi, but I'm… flexible."

          Peter's eyebrows arched.  "I'm flattered."

          "Don't add a hat size, Pete," Stone grumbled, moving back to sit on the bed.

          "That couldn't have been easy in your old neighborhood."

          "Nobody knew.  I didn't know."

          Peter nodded, understanding the secrecy.  "When–?"

          "'Nam."

          "Somebody–?"

          "No," Stone said, a slight smile on his face.  "He was an Australian."

          "What happened?"

          "The war ended.  What about you?"

          "I graduated from university, joined the Yard, met Claire."  He folded his arms across his chest.  "What about the second?"

          "A contact," Stone said.  "He was… killed."

          "I'm sorry."

          Stone shrugged.  "Seems like my track record hasn't been real good.  You better watch out."

          "Don't even joke about that," Sinclair countered.

          "Sorry."

          Peter reached out, resting a hand on Stone's shoulder.  "So, what now?  Where do _we_ go from here?"

          "Where do you want to go, Pete?"

          An evil grin curled his lips.  "I'd like to return the favor."

          The wry smile on Stone's face told Peter that there was something more.

          "What?"

          Stone looked up, meeting his gaze.  "I don't think that would be a good idea.  I like it a little rougher than you do."

          Peter's eyebrows arced again.  "And just how rough do you like it?"

          "No S-and-M if that's what you're thinking."  Stone glanced away, having second thoughts about starting down the path.

          "Tell me," Peter insisted softly.

          He studied the floor.  "Look, when I'm with a woman," Stone started, "I like to… treat 'em right.  Go slow, gentle, like I did for you."

          "That was very, very good," Sinclair told him.

          "But when I'm with a man… I like it… rougher."

          "Define 'rougher.'"

          Stone sighed heavily, then shook his head.  "I don't know if I can put it in words."

 _He means he likes to be dominated.  Tied up, held down_ , Peter's alter-ego explained with a predatory grin.  _Now I really like this man._

          "Tied up, held down?" Peter ventured after he swallowed hard.

          Stone shrugged.  "Yeah, I guess."

_He wants to be rubbed hard, bitten, but not hurt.  Oh, no, he doesn't want to be hurt.  He just wants to know he could be._

          "This is crazy," Stone said, standing.

          Sinclair bounced off the bed, catching Stone before he could escape.  "Wait," he said.  "I don't know if I can do everything you want, but I'm willing to give it a try… if you are."

          Stone studied him for a moment, deciding.  He nodded.  "Okay."

          Sinclair's arms came up to encircle Stone, pulling him into a tight embrace.  They wrestled back to the bed where Peter pushed Stone back and set about removing the man's clothes, one piece at a time.  The ex-SEAL did nothing to help him, preferring to lie with his own eyes closed while Peter worked.

          Shoes and socks were first, then the black t-shirt.  Sinclair slid his hands up stone bare chest, teasing the already hard nipples with a light touch.

          "Harder," Stone instructed.

          Sinclair squeezed the nubs, drawing a moan out of the man.  Peter chuckled as Stone pressed his hips up, inviting him to unbutton the jeans.  He took the man up on his offer, then tugged the tight pants down Stone's legs, leaving the white briefs in place.

          A soft moan filled the room when Peter nibbled on Stone's nipples, a hand rubbing down his ribs.

 _Harder, Laddie, he's not going to break_ , his other self instructed.  _Straddle him.  Hold him down.  Screw him into the floor._

          Peter buried his face in Stone's neck, starting a steady assault down the exposed curve to the waiting collar bones and beyond.

          Stone sucked in a sharp breath as Sinclair shifted to a more frontal attack.  Lifting his leg over Stone, Peter straddled the man.  Hooking his feet over Stone's thighs, he leaned forward and trapped the man's wrists against the rumpled blanket.

          "This what you had in mind?" he asked, following the suggestion.

          Stone responded, his hips circling beneath Peter as he moaned in surrender.  He pressed his hips up.

          Sinclair hopped off, grabbing Stone's shoulder and forcing him over onto his back.  Letting his fingertips run along the top of Stone's shoulder, he dipped down the arm and back up again, then drew his fingertips down the same path harder.  Goose-bumps marked the path.

          Cupping his hand at the back of Stone's neck, Peter leaned forward and brushed the waiting lips, then pressed harder, grinding against skin and teeth.

_Not too hard, Laddie._

          Stone's lips parted slightly and the tips of their tongues explored the other's.

          Stone moaned slightly as the kiss became a subtle game of dominance, both men shifting back and forth between aggressor and receiver.  Sinclair drew them over so Stone lay pressed firmly against his side.  The heat emanating from the American's groin excited him, but he knew he couldn't get it up for another round.  Not that quickly.

_That's all right.  It'll give you the chance to pay attention to what he wants._

          It was Stone who came up for air first, gasping a lungful while his hand reached for Peter's chest, fingers trembling in building anticipation.

          "Oh no," Sinclair said, pushing the hand away before he reached down to rub a hand along the top of a muscular thigh.  He gave the hip a teasing squeeze before moving to the elastic waistband of the briefs.

_Snap them, but not too hard._

          Peter followed the suggestion.  Stone bucked forward, his swelling cock spearing against Sinclair's leg through the cotton.

          Peter pushed the ex-SEAL back again so he was lying on his back, then grabbed the elastic and pulled the briefs off.  That done, he captured the large pulsing cock in his hand and squeezed.

          Stone arched up, pressing against Peter's hand.

          "You're sure?" the Brit asked.

          "Stop asking and _do_ something."

          Sinclair chuckled.  Holding the hard cock in his hand, he was able to heft the length, establishing a familiarity that he hoped would last for a long, long time.  Reaching past the hard cock, he gently cupped Stone's balls, kneading them gently.  The man's hips circled in small gyrations, as Peter continued to work.

          With his free hand he reached out, tugging, rolling, and pressing the erect nipples.  Combing his fingertips through the chest hair, he gave the hairs around the man's belly button a gentle pull.

          "Ahhh," Stone sighed.

 _That's right_ , Peter's other self said.  _A little soft pain never hurt anyone.  Now, why don't you put the poor sod out of his misery?_

          Peter stretched out along Stone, then captured the throbbing head of the dusky cock in his mouth, dragging a startled gasp, followed by a low feral moan from the man.

          Nibbling, sucking, biting, and licking along the shaft, Sinclair felt Stone's fingers curl into the blankets.  He was afraid he was going to hurt the man, but he seemed to be enjoying every moment.

_Well, turn about is fair play, after all._

          Sinclair's hands stroked the hard nipples and the passion-tight abdominal muscles.  The ex-SEAL groaned, his back arching in reply to the achingly gentle hands and rough mouth.

          Peter stopped just long enough roll over and grab the tube of KY.  Stone moaned, but waited without comment.

          "Turn onto your side," Sinclair directed.

          Stone obeyed.

          Maneuvering so he lay alongside Stone, Peter reached out and tapped behind Stone's top knee.  "Lift."

          The ex-SEAL did, and Sinclair positioned the leg, the man's foot on the bed, exposing Stone's groin to whatever Sinclair had planned.

          Squeezing out some of the KY along one finger, he set the tube aside and turned back to the inviting, pulsing cock.  Nipping at the tip, he watched the shaft jump, then sucked the head into his mouth.  At the same time he gently drew his fingertip in circles around the outside of Stone's sphincter, causing the man to groan.

          Peter used his tongue to press the crown of Stone's cock against the roof of his mouth, barring deeper penetration.  The ex-SEAL pressed harder, trying to bury himself in the warm depth of Peter's throat.

          Sinclair tapped at the entrance to Stone's ass and he shifted backward, pressing against the retreating finger.  Frustrated on both ends, he groaned.

          Peter smiled inwardly, sucking the straining cock further in at the same time as he slipped his finger inside and rimmed gently.

          "Ahhh," Stone choked as Peter pressed his finger in further, seeking out the walnut-sized mass of the prostrate.

          Stone bucked forward when Peter found it and began to stroke.  Sucking harder, he pressed and felt Stone arch into the sensation, then bear down on the manipulating finger.

          With his free hand, Peter reached out and squeezed one nipple.

          That was the last straw and Stone bucked forward one last time before he exploded in Peter's mouth.  Sinclair swallowed the thick, slightly sweet semen, then pulled his finger free and licked the head and shaft clean.  Planting a last kiss on the softening cock, he watched as it jumped lethargically in reply, then shifted on the bed so he could lay next to Stone without touching him.

          "Something like that?"

          "Not bad… for a first try," Stone panted.

          Peter chuckled.  "Glad to hear it."  He reached out and ruffled Stone's short, curly hair.

          "Get," the man growled, waving the intruding hand away.

          "Given your comment, am I to assume that I'll have an opportunity to practice?"

          "Mmm," Stone replied.  "Practice makes perfect."

          "Glad to hear it," Peter said, sitting up.  "Well, I don't know about you, but I think it's time for a shower."

          "You first," Stone said sleepily.

          "Yeah, me first," Peter echoed fondly as he watched Stone's eyes drop closed.

_He'll be good for you, Laddie.  Loosen up, enjoy it.  And don't be afraid to tie him up next time.  He'll love it._

          Peter shook his head, wondering where this path would take him, and not really caring because it was going to be one hell of a ride.

The End


End file.
